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HERALDS OF EASTER 

A NEW POEM OF EASTERTIDE BY 

DORA READ GOODALE 

WITH DESIGNS OF 

CITY-SPARROWS AND WISTERIA BLOSSOMS; WHITE 

DOVES AND BLOSSOMING APRICOT ; SWALLOWS 

SKIMMING OVER WHITE DAISIES; CHIP- 

PING-BIRDS AND PUSSY-WILLOW 



fidelia'bridges 

designer of 
•songs of birds;" "birds of meadow and grove; " "songsters of the branches' 




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NEW YORK 
Copyright, 1887, by 
WHITE, STOKES, & ALLEN 
1887. 






LIBRARY OF CONGRESS 



000 837 309 7 ♦ 



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;Oi'YP,n,MT 1667 .BY WHITE. STOKES,* AU.EN 



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HERALDS OF EASTER. "^ 

The night is past, the heavy night of sorrow, 
The creeping hourSy unsolaced and alone — 
Lift up your hearts to greet the happy morrow , 
Fair cradle of a future yet unknown. 

A whisper shakes the curtained, grey, 

To hail the rising king, 
And on the crystal air of day 

The bells begin to ring — i 

O hark ! ^ 

The bells begin to ring. 




87.BV WHITE, STOKE 



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Again the words of glad release are spoken 
To every soul with leaden grief oppressed, 
The year brings back the old, immortal token 
And hope returns to ease the burdened breast. 
A look — a word, we know not how^ 

Our long resentment goes; 
It melts before a sweeter vow, 
To vanish like the snows 

At last, 
To vanish like the snows. 



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The earth breaks forth in countless eager voices, 

A silver sound where all before was dztmb; 
The sparrow on the swinging vine rejoices, 
Dreaming of fune and rosy days to come, 
For so in blissful promise meet 

The tardy gifts of Time, 
While yet, with li^tgering cadence sweet, 
The Easter belfries chime, 

Far off 
The Easter belfries chime. 

As light returns, in sudden pallor stealing, 
The city starts, her pulses thrill again, — 

For her the breath of vital strength and healing 
Whose streets and alleys teem with myriad men ! 




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COPYRIGHT 1887 .BY WHITE.STOKES,* ALUEN. 



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On many a hearth her grateful fires 

A sacred incense raise, 
For still the tameless heart aspires 

And burns in prayer and praise , — 
Untaught 

It burns in prayer and praise. 

Long is the night above the distant meadows^ 

Black, like the grave that holds the silent clay; 
When shall the morning part the empty shadows^ 
Type of a faith, majestic as the day? 
A glimmer lights the Eastern sky. 

The melting flush of springy 
And from the heavens, dark and high^ 
The birds begin to sing — 

O hush ! 
The birds begin to sing. 



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Once more the stream foretells the time of swallows, 
Freed from its bonds, and laughing in the light; 
Glistens the grass beside the stony shallows, 
Promise of summer to the hungry sight! 
A warmth has pierced tlie frozen earth 

By barren field and plain, 
And quickened to a higher birth 
She wakes with all her train — 

O see! 
She wakes with all her train. 

Hark, what a burst of rapture and of yearning, 
Spent, like a wave dissolvi7ig on the sand. 

Blessed be the /tour of life a7id love returning, • 
Sweet consolation to the wintry land! 



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The mayflower lifts her swelling budsy 

The toy of sleet a7id snow, 
And half the willow's russet hoods 

A silver crescent show 
Forsooth, 

A silver crescent show. 

In lonely grief , as heedless of the morrow. 

With costly vows we kept the lenten fast; 
We too would bring the gifts of tender sorrow , 
And seek our Lord amid the buried past: 
But not in clay or crumbling stone 

Shall deathless hope appear: 
The Saviour still redeems his own — 
He rose and is not here, — 
Behold 
He rose and is not here ! 

— Dora, Read Goodale. 



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